


aquarius sun

by angelkoushi



Series: this pain won't be for evermore [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Referenced Astrology, Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28951893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkoushi/pseuds/angelkoushi
Summary: Hanamaki Takahiro has pride issues, and there is a limit to Matsukawa Issei's enduring patience.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Series: this pain won't be for evermore [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2063205
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	aquarius sun

**Author's Note:**

> evermore (taylor swift) - **closure**
> 
> _don't treat me like some situation that needs to be handled; i'm fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles_

***

Hanamaki Takahiro never cries.

It’s not that he literally _can’t_ ; he isn’t broken enough for that. (Not yet, anyway.)

It’s just that, he is completely averse to the thought of being regarded as weak or vulnerable or _feeling_. He detests excessive shows of emotion – more so on him than anyone else. There’s something about tears that makes his skin crawl, and it makes him want to get angry and shout and _get a grip on yourself, you pathetic asshole!_

He never lets himself cry, not where people can see. He watches sad movies in the privacy of his room, and even then, he only allows a sheen over his eyeballs before he dabs it away. He’s loath to let even a single tear roll down his face.

When he’s mad or frustrated or stressed enough that his heart feels like it would just burst, he keeps it in with a deep, controlled sigh. He purses his lips, keeping his eyes down or focused on a strong light source, and doesn’t reply when it’s not in his heart to do it. He ignores people he doesn’t want to answer; he pretends either he or they are invisible and of no consequence. It is the only way, he knows, that he won’t get reduced to a blubbering mess.

Which leads him to his current predicament: Matsukawa Issei.

Big, dependable, warm Matsukawa Issei. Matsukawa Issei who is honesty personified. Matsukawa Issei who feels things just a little bit more intensely, who never withholds whatever is on his mind, if it needs to be said. Matsukawa Issei who holds the importance of words and communication like a law over his heart. (He’s right about that, but Takahiro isn’t about to _admit_ it.

It would mean that he, Takahiro, is wrong. And God forbid he ever admits _that_.)

This Matsukawa Issei makes him so unbelievably comfortable that Takahiro thinks he can say _anything_ , be _whoever_ he wants to be in front of him. And to Hanamaki Takahiro, who hates showing just what exactly he is thinking, Matsukawa Issei is bad news.

(Takahiro thinks about that often. He wonders why it’s difficult to let himself be honest about what he is feeling. He hasn’t come up with a satisfying answer yet.)

Matsukawa Issei is also, as his underclassmen would say, enduringly patient.

Among the third years in their team during their time in high school, he was considered the most serene, easiest to approach guy. Iwaizumi had an intimidating aura and a face to match (Oikawa calls it a resting bitch face); Hanamaki always looked like he was going to play a prank or a joke; and Oikawa was just an overwhelming presence overall.

Compared to the three of them, Matsukawa seemed tame.

(But the other three were always quick to argue against that.)

It is this particular trait of his that drives Takahiro around the bend. Takahiro doesn’t mean to test him, to push at his limits and boundaries only to find out when and how he breaks. He doesn’t _mean_ to, but he does it anyway.

“You’re an asshat, you know that, right?”

Takahiro gets pulled back into the present, out of the blurry, red-tinged memories of the past three months, and into the very tangible, very pissed off face and blistering presence of one of his closest friends, Iwaizumi Hajime.

“I like to think so as well, thank you,” he spits right back.

“That wasn’t meant to be a compliment, you idiot.”

“But it’s true and I’m not about to deny it.”

“Yeah you’re more willing to deny the fact that you miss Matsukawa.”

“I do _not_.” (He does though, but Iwaizumi doesn’t need to know that.)

Iwaizumi scoffs and leans back with a smug little look on that ridiculously handsome face of his, which only indicates that he knows already. Takahiro resists the urge to knock the expression right off. Instead, he goes where it hurts the most.

“Have you heard from Oikawa?”

The expression changes almost too drastically that Takahiro feels the tail-end of a whiplash. Unlike him, Iwaizumi has never been good at hiding what he’s thinking. He reddens too quickly, frowns almost automatically, and laughs quite easily, despite what most people think.

Right now, his eyes soften as he looks out of the window, as if hoping to see something beyond the buildings that surround them. It’s almost as if he really could see beyond, to a place Takahiro cannot reach. Takahiro almost regrets the cheap move.

“Yeah, yeah I have.” His voice is quiet, small; it sounds so off-setting on Iwaizumi that it makes Takahiro feel sheepish.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” How he could be so raw with his thoughts and feelings, Takahiro will never understand. He doesn’t _hate_ it; that made Iwaizumi a lot easier to understand and empathize with.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I’m alright. It was coming, and I knew it. It’s just… I wish he might have stayed until I was awake, or woke me before he left. I could have driven him to the airport or something. He’s doing well; last I heard, there’s this boy in Argentina.”

Takahiro has heard of him too, the boy in Argentina. Oikawa said that the boy helped him settle in, that they are good friends and that Oikawa wishes they could all meet up someday.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Iwaizumi feels about that.

“I digress. This isn’t about me.”

 _Oh please, let it all be about you._ “I’m not talking about anything. By all means, go ahead and rant.”

“No, this is about you and how you’re being an asshole to one of your closest friends. Might I remind you that you guys were tight before this entire shitshow happened. You owe him more than what you did, and you know it.”

Takahiro winces. It wasn’t much of a shitshow; at least, that’s what Takahiro would like to think. Instead, he knows he was the one in the wrong this time.

Issei would never have broken up with him if Takahiro hadn’t goaded him and pushed against his boundaries like a billy goat gruff, and even in the event of the break-up, Issei never lost his patience.

Takahiro remembers with frightening clarity that one evening, with both of them standing in the living room. No words were being said; everything has been thrown out in the past hour and they both sported bruises and cuts from the things they spat at each other.

And Takahiro knows that Issei bled a lot worse than he did.

“I don’t understand.” The way Issei’s voice sounded small and defeated twisted Takahiro’s guts. 

_Don’t cry. For fuck’s sake, don’t cry._

He might have said that aloud, and Issei definitely heard.

“No, I _will_ cry. _Some_ one has to do it in this relationship, and hell if you ever will.”

Takahiro was loath to look at Issei, but instincts overrode all (unreasonable) reasons. He looked up and had the wind knocked out of him at the sight.

Issei was fully red in the face, shoulders bunched up to his ears and hands curled into fists in tight tension. From his deep, dark eyes gushed unabashed tears, and Takahiro felt both revolted and pathetic.

He _hated_ it; not Issei, but his reaction.

This is _Issei_ , for crying out loud. This is the man he loves right next to his sisters; this is his best friend, his partner in crime. And he _hates_ the way he cries.

(He doesn’t understand until much later that he hates how Issei’s tears break his heart into pieces so small, it felt like treading on broken glass.)

“You know what’s best for you,” he remembers saying. Except it felt like it came from someone else in the room rather than his own lips. “And clearly, that’s not me.”

“Hiro, please… It doesn’t have to be this hard. I can’t help you if you don’t let me or tell me what you need. Let me _in_.”

The rope snaps. “I don’t need help! Nothing is wrong with me! For fuck’s sake, I’m fucking _fine_!”

He didn’t know when he’d closed his eyes. He misses the way Issei recoils, almost taking a step back from the hostility. He misses the way Issei raises both arms to pull him into his big, warm chest, then stops and lowers them again.

All he hears are heavy footsteps and fading sniffles, until the door to the apartment opens, then closes. Quietly. Takahiro almost wishes that Issei had banged the door; but like everything Issei did, even his wordless goodbye was done in the gentlest way.

“I see you’ve realized that you are, in fact, an asshole.”

Takahiro outrightly glares at Iwaizumi. “Can you _please_ shut up, I was having a _moment_.”

“Well, while you have your moment, I’m gonna bounce. I don’t want to be here to see this,” he gestures vaguely toward Takahiro, “storm and the aftermath.”

“What a poet.” Takahiro pauses, then realizes what Iwaizumi said. “What do you—”

He sees him outside the window before he could finish speaking.

Issei stands on the sidewalk with his hands buried into the deep pockets of his camel trench coat, a jacket Takahiro used to enjoy borrowing despite it not being his style – only because it was so warm and it reminds him of how Issei hugs.

His big, dark eyes droop at the corners, and it reminds Takahiro of a stray puppy waiting out on a curb, in a threadbare box with no roof over its head as the rain falls hard and fills its soaked bed with water.

That was too vivid an imagery, and Takahiro needs to snap out of it.

He watches Iwaizumi saunter out to meet Issei, clasp hands with the man, then walk away with no more than a smirk sent Takahiro’s way.

_Perfect, he can’t just ignore that stray puppy out on the street, now, can he?_

Takahiro sighs, then makes his way out of the coffee shop as well.

Issei turns to face him as he approaches, and Takahiro almost balks and walks away at the sheer force of attention he was given.

_Stop it. Stop looking at me._

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

_God why is it so fucking awkward?_

Takahiro clears his throat. “I’m going for a walk, are you coming with?”

Issei nods, and that was that.

They make their way through the busier parts of the city, until they arrive at the avenue that walked up to their alma mater. Somehow, even after all these years, the rhythm and pace of their footsteps still end up there, where everything began.

Takahiro unconsciously led them to the open field where the track, softball, and baseball teams train. There is no one there in that afternoon; it is a weekend and the kids are all elsewhere, as they should.

It happens as they sit side by side on the wide green field – with thighs barely touching and Takahiro intensely aware of Issei’s presence beside him – that big, dependable, warm Matsukawa Issei asks him a question.

“How are you, Hiro?”

There are a million things Takahiro could have said; a million rehearsed answers, depending on how much detail he wanted to go in to sound convincing.

_I’m okay._

_I’m kind of tired, but I’m holding on just fine._

_I’m incredibly unhappy with my job right now, but there are things I want to try out!_

However, Takahiro recognizes one answer out of a million that threatens to bubble out; the only _honest_ answer, the one only Issei could ever get remotely close to drawing out.

And because it goes against his immediate nature to ever let himself be so vulnerable as to say something like _that_ , Takahiro chooses to bury it down. As he does with everything, which ultimately led them to where they are right now.

He shrugs, and looks up at the bright blue sky in the most nonchalant way possible. “I’m okay. Work is still the same: stressful, but it’s not that bad.”

_Nothing is up, everything is as usual. I can handle it. I can handle myself._

The thing about Matsukawa Issei is that he never pushes; not with words, anyway. Instead, he gets this look on his face, that gaze in his eyes. It’s the way he looks at Takahiro as if he could read what is on the latter’s mind, and it scares Takahiro to the bone. Because he knows that specific look sees beyond what he says, or even how he chooses to disguise it in all manner of non-verbal cues.

It’s a look that makes him want to be raw and honest and _sincere_ , and the mere thought of being such disgusts him enough to shudder.

So he doesn’t know exactly what prompts him to add to what he said; he has always been the type to listen more than talk. It had worked well for him, in his twenty seven years of living. It gave him the excuse not to bare himself under the guise of being a good friend.

(That is not to say that Takahiro is not sincere about listening; he loves listening. More than the fact that it enables him to keep mum about himself, it makes him realize that there are bigger things than his own problems, which in turn helps him ignore them.

It’s an unhealthy practice, and he _knows_ it.)

Takahiro sighs, and feels a click from within him. The unlocking of some sort of Pandora’s box, if you will.

“I’m stressed. I drank a whole pack of beer to myself last night, did you know? I sat on my couch with the lights all turned off and I downed six cans of beer. It felt great, but also lonely. I wish I could have drank with someone, but there wasn’t anyone to call and anyway, people had their own plans for a Friday night and I couldn’t just ask someone to change their plans for me. And I drove you away already, I wasn’t about to treat you like a booty call or some shit. That’s stupid, but I’d definitely do it for someone, of course, if they called me. But I wouldn’t—I couldn’t, I wouldn’t dare—but I’m just… empty, you know? I’ve run out of fucks to give, I really have, except that I know I can be better, that I can do better. And why is it that right when I can’t give anymore, that’s when people are looking? And why do I care? I can be tired too, can’t I? I can take time for myself too, but I really can't, I think. People are still working and there are a hell lot more who have it worse than I do and I really can’t complain—"

“Hiro.”

And it’s that look again, the look that makes Takahiro want to shrivel up and die because of how much this other man _sees_.

_Stop perceiving me. Stop looking at me. Let’s talk about you! What’s new with—_

“Hiro.”

It’s the way Issei says his name, like Issei is actually looking at him and _seeing_ him. It’s the way Takahiro always knows that he is being listened to, with Issei.

“Fuck, Issei. What are you doing to me?”

Takahiro doesn’t know when the tears came. Maybe he has been crying for a while; he isn’t sure. But it’s too late now; Issei has seen them. What will he think? _I’m making a scene. This is is gross, what the fuck? What am I—_

“Hey, it’s okay.”

_Fuck._

“I’m fine, sorry. It’s nothing. I’m alright. I got this.”

Takahiro harshly wipes away the tears that make their way down his face. He looks up, turns toward the sun in an effort to dry them up, to suck them back in.

That is, until Issei pulls him onto his chest. And Takahiro wants to melt all over again.

“Let me go—”

“It’s okay. Hiro, it’s okay.” Issei’s chest rumbles, and despite himself, Takahiro feels his own fingers curl around a bunch of Issei’s shirt. He feels himself bury in deeper in the circle of Issei’s arms, as if getting closer would let him disappear from prying eyes.

And it _is_ okay, Takahiro realizes. It has always been okay. The thought of crying—and in the presence of someone else too, the _horror_ —still claws at him from the inside out. It still makes him want to dig a hole in the ground and bury himself in it.

But it also feels unbelievably light.

Light, free, cathartic.

It is a proper conundrum, a battle between two opposing thoughts. But Matsukawa Issei makes it feel alright.

Because when it comes to Matsukawa Issei, Takahiro lets himself think that maybe, for just a little while, it’s okay to be real sometimes.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Christine [ [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/protagonists/profile) and [twt](https://twitter.com/bokkuatsu) ]
> 
> Did I completely project my insecurities and pride issues onto Hanamaki because our birthdays are right next to each other? Yes.
> 
> Do I regret it? No way in hell.
> 
> Honestly I have no excuses for this one. It started as a rant fic of some sort on a Friday night when I finished a hectic workday, and then, somehow, it transformed into this. I hope it gave you some amusement, and happy (?) Aquarius season. ^^


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